Posts Tagged ‘Balrogs’

I’ve been living in out in Eriador in the East. I said “living,” not “hiding.” It would only be “hiding” if I cared if Melkor knew where I am, which I don’t.

Anyway, Eriador is almost entirely forested. There are a few Elves living out here, the so-called Avari, who were too smart to follow the summons to Valinor; some Dwarves; and a good number of Men. So, there’s plenty of food. I’m still in the form of a great werewolf, most days, so it’s easy to hunt.

The nice thing about Eriador is, all of Melkor’s crap is over in Beleriand by the sea, where Ulmo can interfere. Eriador is far, far from the sea, and always will be.

I like living in the forest. The trees shelter me during the day from the heat and light of the accursed Sun; and at night I don’t have to look at the useless Moon or at Varda’s filthy stars, which mar the perfection of the Celestial Firmament that Melkor and I built with our own hands. You know, back when Melkor wasn’t an incompetent boob more concerned with shiny gems and the affairs of mortals than with achieving our revenge against Manwë the Dickless Prick and his Valar Traitors.

Anyway.

So I’ve been living out here, taking it easy, bossing around the local wolves and trolls, and snacking on a wide buffet of mortal creatures — even Dwarves, when I’m hungry for something stringy and gristly that tastes like ass. It’s worth it to hear them scream.

This morning I was sleeping under a huge willow tree down by the river — a nasty, mean-spirited tree with a heart of pure blackness, so we get along fine — when I was awakened by singing. Why is it that every bad thing in my life starts with singing?

At least it wasn’t the thin, reedy, fingernails-on-a-chalkboard-whatever-a-chalkboard-is singing of an Elf, nor the gruff atonal caterwauling of a Man, nor the deep, flatulent intonations of a Dwarf. No, this was proper singing. Ainu singing.

I immediately threw on a pleasing anthropomorphic form, the kind of thing I used to wear when sneaking around Taniquetil or the borders of Doriath. I hid in the bushes, and saw a woman approaching — clearly a Maia, but one who had taken on the form of a Mannish princess, for some unfathomable reason. She was fair-skinned and blonde-haired, like the accursed Edain of north-eastern Endor; and she wore a green dress shot with silver, and a gold belt.

I needed to know why she was there — was she a spy for Manwë, or worse yet, for Tulkas? Was she somehow related to Melian? I stepped out into the open and greeted her.

Here’s what I learned. Her name was Golodhbereth, and she was one of the lesser of the minor nature spirits, a Naiad; and a servant of Yavanna, the slut wife of my former boss Aulë. She had wandered out of Aman and into Middle-earth because she was “collecting flowers.”

And you know what? This chick was so mind-bendingly stupid, I could believe it. Seriously. I’ve had more enlightening conversations with piles of Orc dung.

So, I had options. I could have seduced her, or better yet raped her; but I’m not really interested in that sort of thing, and I’m saving up all my raping and killing energy for when I encounter Melian again. I could have destroyed her, damning her spirit to wander formless and cold across the face of Arda until the Final Battle — but someone might miss her (unlikely, but a possibility), so I decided to spare her. In the end, I just sent her on her way, down to the river, to collect “water lilies,” whatever the hell those are. I wasn’t terribly worried about her reporting my position to her friends in Valinor, because (a) she didn’t know who I was and (b) she probably forgot me five minutes after leaving me.

I changed back into Dire Wolf form and laid back down, and was just settling into a wonderful dream about ripping apart and consuming Manwë’s twisted hröa, when I heard more goddam singing. Yes, Ainu singing, although the worst I had ever heard.

Since Melkor and I had arrived on this shitty little disk of rock so many geological eras ago, we had not seen hide nor hair of Iarwain Ben-adar, the mysterious and unidentified spirit who alone had preceded us into this universe. We had decided it was some poor joke by the typically hilarious Eru Ilúvatar, and forgotten all about it.

But here he was, tra-la-la-ing along the forest path like some ruddy Mannish homosexual, mincing and prancing like he owned the forest. MY forest.

So I attacked, leaping into the air with slavering fangs three feet long, claws of blood-stained Adamant, eyes like twin wheels of fire. I fell upon him like a mountain of black, overpowering death.

Something went wrong, and the world twisted, and a moment later I was on my back, dazed, while Iarwain Ben-fucking-adar continued on his flouncing way like nothing had happened.

I leapt to my feet, summoned a storm of lighting and smothering darkness in the sky overhead; covered the forest floor for miles in all directions with a greenish miasma that sucked the life from all things; howled a terrible howl that chilled the Sun, froze the blood, and was remembered in the whispered mid-winter tales of every mortal tribe living within a thousand miles for centuries to come; and leapt again, ready to rend the limbs from the poncy little poltroon, consume his soul and crap it back out down his throat.

Twist, blank, and I’m on my ass again — and he’s hopping down the bunny trail. WTF?

Fine. Whatever. Who cares? Big deal. Let him go down to the river. I hope he finds that Golodhbereth chick, they deserve each other.

Unhappily, I found my spot under Young Man Willow and laid back down. I was just settling into a wonderful dream where Melian was begging me to take her back, but I didn’t care and was ripping her intestines out through her nostril anyway, when I smelt something burning.

At least no one was singing.

I looked up and saw that the forest was on fire. Well, that was cool, burning was what trees were best at. I decided to head over, because I was still pretty bummed out by my run-in with that asshole in the feathered cap, and living things dying agonizingly in flames always cheers me up.

So imagine my surprise when I saw that the flames were being left in the wake of the passing of a Balrog. I recognized him — a fellow named Lungorthin, one of Gothmog’s crew.

Now see, if I were hiding in Eriador, I would certainly have avoided letting Lungorthin see me. Also, I did not reveal myself to Lungorthin because I was desperate for the company of one of my own kind after years in exile. That would be pathetic.

No, I approached Lungorthin to be polite.

He was surprised to see me. Apparently, the belief around the Angband water cooler (whatever a water cooler is) was that I had been destroyed along with my tower at Tol-in-Gaurhoth — as if! Sauron Gorthaur the Deceiver, Lord of Werewolves, Chief of the Maiar, destroyed by that half-breed whelp Lúthien Tinúviel? Puh-lease. She’s lucky I let her live.

Strangely, I guess those Balrogs I ran into in Taur-nu-Fuin never reported to Melkor that they had seen me. Let me tell you , it’s all phone calls and telegrams with those people in Angband — rumors spread like wildfire, but genuine information is hoarded like Silmarils. (Whatever a phone — oh, you get the picture.)

Lungorthin filled me in on what’s been going on in the four decades or so since Melkor let Melian’s little brat steal one of his shiny rocks from right off his noggin. The big news, as far as Lungorthin was concerned, was that Gothmog was destroyed, slain while killing an Elf-lord of Gondolin. Yes, Melkor finally found Gondolin, and Nargothrond, and destroyed them both. Carcharoth, that traitorous little dumbass, was dead too, killed by Huan, of all people.

But the big news was this — that little bitch Elu Thingol was killed by a bunch of Dwarves (fighting over that damned Silmaril), and Melian bailed on all the Elves and went back to Aman!

What!?

At this point, I stopped Lungorthin. For one thing, it was a lot to absorb. For another, it was beginning to look like the tide had turned for Melkor, and through sheer luck the old moron was actually achieving his goal of ridding Beleriand of the accursed Noldor and Edain.

Which made me look like a complete and total dumbass for quitting and going to Eriador. And what was I going to tell Melkor? That I got lost? I didn’t keep track of the time? I had something important to pick up in the Hithaeglir, and I forgot to mention I would be gone so long?

I realized the only thing I could do, while I mulled all this new information and formulated a plan, was kill Lungorthin. I couldn’t have him heading back to Angband and concocting some lie about me hiding out under a willow tree in Eriador getting fat on Elf-flesh.

So I leapt to my feet, summoned a storm of lighting and smothering darkness in the sky overhead — you know, the works. Now let me assure you, I could easily have killed Lungorthin. He’s quite subordinate to me, and doesn’t carry any weapon but a big flaming whip. Unfortunately, he’s fast. Balrogs may not have wings, but they can run like they’re flying. I chased Lungorthin for hundreds of miles, until he wormed his way down a hole under the Misty Mountains and I couldn’t find him again. Asshole.

Well, he’s not getting out of there. I’m going to keep an eye on Eregion, and if Lungorthin so much as sticks his ugly flammable nose out for some fresh air I’ll have his head.

So. Melkor is consolidating his hold over Beleriand. Melian fled back to her Valar friends in Aman, taking all her power with her. Things are beginning to look up.

I am not spending another aeon of my precious immortal existence serving that mouth-breathing moron, Melkor.

Fuck him. Fuck him right in the ass.

After that filthy, faithless, sniveling turd of a canine Huan drove me out of Tol Sirion, and that half-breed abomination Lúthien (as I have now learned) razed Tol-in-Gaurhoth to its foundations (which is idiotic, since Minas Tirith was an Elven tower — bet no one will ever use that name again), I ended up strategically retreating to Taur-nu-Fuin in vampire form. No, I was not hiding. I was waiting to regroup with Carcharoth and the others, so we could go back, avenge Draugluin, and retake the Pass of Sirion.

So no, I was not hiding from Melkor because I’d had my ass handed to me by Huan and a girl. Shut up!

Anyway, I waited for months in the forest of Taur-nu-Fuin amongst the foul-smelling pine trees, picking up the occasional Man, Elf or Dwarf as a light snack, until finally I espied a troop of Balrogs making their way south. I accosted them, and they didn’t recognize me at first — I had forgotten I was still in vampire form. So I re-assumed my accustomed, anthropoid form, and let me tell you, those boys were glad to see me.

But the story they told me was absolutely freakin’ unbelievable.

Remember that Man I was holding prisoner, the one who sang to Thingol and Melian’s little genetic monster? Well, he and Lúthien headed straight to Angband, with nothing on their minds but stealing one of those stupid Magic Rocks.

Seriously, what is up with those rocks?

So they arrived at the gates of Angband, and who was guarding the entrance but Carcharoth? Here’s what I’ve figured out — Carcharoth did not go to Angband to get messages from Melkor. Rather, Melkor summoned him back North to take over as some kind of seneschal — indeed, possibly to replace me. And neither one had the courage to say anything about it.

Anyway, Lúthien managed to get herself and her Mannish boy-toy (what is up with all the inter-species pollination?) past Carcharoth using some kind of Spell of Command or Word of Oblivion — the Balrogs weren’t clear on the details. Then the two of them walked tra-la-la-lolly past every Orc, Evil Man, Ulfsark, Werewolf, Troll, Giant, Balrog and Dragon in Angband, straight down to the Uttermost Pits where Melkor was sitting in his Iron Crown, brooding or whatever he calls it.

Now that’s security! Good work, everyone! I leave for ten minutes, and it all goes to hell.

Lúthien walks up to Melkor, aka Morgoth Bauglir, The Black Enemy, Master of Angband, Rightful Lord of the Earth, He Who Arises In Might, on his own throne in his own fortress, and starts singing.

If it was anything like that caterwauling she let loose at the foot of Tol-in-Gaurhoth, I’m glad I didn’t have to sit through it.

Now, if you’re asking yourself why Melkor didn’t just squash her with his boot and wipe it off on the nearest Werewolf pelt, well, anyone with half a brain would ask the same question. But the answer the Balrogs gave was really, really disgusting. But I believe them because I won’t put anything past Melkor anymore.

Melkor spared the Lúthien-creature because he wanted to have sex with it.

Ewwwwwwwwwwww.

So she used her Word of Oblivion again, and Melkor must have rolled some kind of quadruple critical miss on his saving throw, because he dropped unconscious. The Man pried a Magic Rock from Melkor’s crown, and the two of them hightailed it out of there.

Unbelievable.

I mean, yes, I was temporarily kind-of semi-defeated, but by Huan — a fat idiot, but at least a full-fledged Maia. Melkor gets thoroughly humiliated by a MORTAL and a HALF-ELF.

Now you might ask yourself, didn’t anyone in Angband acquit themselves adequately in this whole fiasco? Why yes, one did. Guess who? Could it be my first lieutenant, personally trained by me, one Carcharoth Anfauglir, The Red Maw, Chief of Werewolves? Yes.

Carcharoth overcame the abomination’s sleepy-spell, and bit off the Man’s hand, taking the Magic Rock with it. He ran away, I have no idea where, but at least someone bit something. Jesus.

Whomever “Jesus” is.

I would head up there to kill the half-breed and her Mannish pet myself, but it’s no good — those meddlesome Eagles once again played Manwë ex machina and carried them away. Assholes.

The point is, I cannot continue to work for an Ainu this staggeringly incompetent. That’s it– it’s over. I am setting up my own shop.

Let Melkor play kissy-kiss with all his little hairless apes. I’m going to raise my own army, and fight the real fight — killing Manwë the Dickless Prick, Melian the Back-stabbing Bitch, Huan the Sniveling Toady, and all the rest of the rebel Ainur and Maiar. And when Sauron Gorthaur is King of Aman, I will return to Middle-earth, and declare myself Lord of the Earth.

And maybe, just maybe, if he’s obsequious enough, I shall permit Morgoth Bauglir to serve me!

It is the eve of battle. This is pretty major — there’s never been violence in the universe before. Good thing all the spirits of Chaos, Misery, Pain and Death are on our side.

The first thing we had to do was choose material forms. It would be pretty hard for us to kick Manwë’s filthy, stinking ass if we’re nothing but incorporeal metaphysical archetypes that anthropomorphize universal qualities. Nope, we have to have bodies.

Some of the manifestations our side picked are way cool. (I mentioned last time that the stupid Valar and their fuckwad followers all chose to dress as Elves.) The balrogs, for instance, have chosen the form of giant fire monsters bearing cruel flaming whips. Niiiiice. They wanted to have wings, but Melkor forbade it. Balrogs can’t fly, so giving them wings wouldn’t make such sense. Gothmog’s happy anyway, because the fire and smoke pour off their bodies into “wings of flame.”

Some of the lesser spirits have taken the form of giant vampires, or giant trolls, or giant serpents, or giant insects. Ungoliant, that weirdo, chose the form of a massive spider spinning webs of darkness. She stinks, it’s disgusting.

Melkor devised a new form for Glaurung, Smaug, and some of the other fire spirits. He won’t say what it is, and apparently it’s not ready yet. So those guys get to sit the battle out.

Melkor chose for himself a humanoid form similar to the Valar, but fifty feet tall, covered in spiked iron armor, and wearing a heavy metal helmet with two holes for his flaming eyes. His iron crown sits atop the helmet. He wields a black spear tipped with a tremendous blade that he forged himself in the hottest flames of the deepest pits. Very imposing, and very appropriate for the Lord of the Earth.

That just left me, and I had to think for a long time. I mean, we can change form any time we want — but the very first form we take kind of sets a precedent. I wanted fierce and frightening, yet fast and cunning. Oh, and I wanted teeth. Teeth are the best — sharpened protrusions of living bone that just stick out of the body, ready to rend other creatures to pieces. Believe me, teeth came out of the Music of Melkor, not Eru’s pansy-ass song that gave us posies and kittens and feminine protection products.

So I thought back on my time with Melian. She was always going on about how this tree was going to be so fascinating and that animal was going to be so pretty. All I cared about was, would the wood burn brightly and the meat taste good? But my ears pricked up when she complained about carnivores. She didn’t like the idea that some animals ate other animals. Sounded great to me.

As a giant werewolf I’m the fastest, deadliest thing on the planet. Heck, I could give Melkor himself a go if I had the mind to. The guy can hardly move with all that armor, and dragging around his colossal spear. Good thing for him I’m loyal.

Now that we’re substantiated, we’re ready for our secret attack. We’ve been planning it for months. Whatever a “month” is.

The pits of boiling lava are ready, as well as the clouds of fumes, rock-spewing volcanoes, and hailstorms of obsidian shards. Melkor’s got the spirits all pumped up for the big day.

Tomorrow, we kill the Valar. And all the Maiar who won’t beg for mercy, and accept the status of chattel.

Well, everything has gone to shit, and there’s no one to blame but that little prick Manwë. That dickless little suckup has ruined everything!

So Melkor and I managed to get the Disc of Arda built, with some help from that moron Aulë, yes, but mostly it was us and the Fire Spirits.

Then it was time to order the rest of creation; the airs and the flora and the fauna and all that. Melkor, the Greatest of the Valar, called everybody together to manage this whole affair, because we can’t have Ainur running around just putting anything anywhere, “poof” there’s a tree, “poof” there’s a cloud.

There has to be order. Purpose. So Melkor stepped in to take charge.

Well, that’s when Manwë gets his thong in a knot. He claims — claims — that he wants all the Valar and Valier to share equally in the shaping of what he insists on calling “the habitation of the Children of Ilúvatar.” As if they’re why we’re doing all this. Please.

But what Manwë really wants is to be some sort of king of the Valar, denying Melkor his rightful title. You just watch and see — I guarantee you mister “we’re all equal” will be ordering everyone around within a week.

He says to Melkor, “This kingdom thou shalt not take for thine own, wrongfully, for many others have laboured here no less than thou.” Hypocrite. And yeah, I’d say many others labored here less than us.

Well, Melkor got pissed, and who can blame him? He declared himself, rightly, Eru’s representative in Arda, and claimed Arda as his kingdom. I immediately recognized his lordship, as did all our usual friends. (Hmn. I noticed that Ungoliant was suspiciously absent. Bitch.)

Well, it was all downhill from there. All the other Valar and Valier immediately sided with Manwë, which convinces me this was some kind of pre-planned coup against Melkor. Even Huan, my so-called “best friend,” sided with the insurgents.

But the very WORST part, the unbearable part, is that Melian sided with them too. Instead of taking my side, the side of the Maia she supposedly loved, she slunk off to be with the Vala Irmo. Oh, she tried to convince me to follow Manwë — some bullshit about peace and love and fraternity. Stupid bitch.

I will never forgive her for betraying me. And if she won’t be with me, she won’t be with anyone — you just watch.

But the architect of my misery is the Dickless Prick. I will get my revenge on Manwë, and it will be slow and painful. I will make him suffer, and then I will destroy him.

Well, it’s finally done. It wasn’t too bad — what with assembling the mathematical framework, building the initial singularity, setting off universal expansion, installing inflation and setting the Cosmological Constant, burning through the first generation galaxies to assemble the heavy elements, constructing the second order galaxies, and building Arda, it only took about 13.4 billion years. Which isn’t so long, really.

A whole lotta work to build one planet, though. Sheesh. Those so-called “Children of Ilúvatar” had better be grateful.

There was some controversy about the design of the planet, initially. Melkor and I came up with some really crazy ideas, like making the planet in the shape of a ship (whatever a “ship” is). But we realized that, what with gravitation and everything, that the most logical design was a flat disc. Sure, you can’t really do anything useful with the bottom side, but the top works as a nice stable platform for all the mountains and trees and shit.

The biggest flaw is that all the water runs off the edges. Ulmo wanted to make the world bowl-shaped, but he got voted down — that egotistical prick Manwë didn’t want anything blocking the view of his precious skies. I wanted to piss them both off, so I suggested a hollow sphere with the sky and water on the outside. LOL, you should have seen their faces.

Anyway, Melkor and I devoted ourselves to building the disk. We wanted to make sure the Fire Spirits, our close allies, had their own realm in Arda. So secretly, without consulting the others, we hollowed out the disk and built a realm of flame and lava inside the planet. Niiiiiice. Nothing they can do about it now.

It’s too bad all the beautiful flame is hidden under the earth, though. I’m thinking of poking a nice deep hole, to let the magma out onto the surface. Can you imagine it? A colossal mountain of cooled magma, with plumes of lava and smoke pouring out from the top! Sweeeet!

I might even be able to use its power for some magical experiments I’ve been thinking about.

Well, we’ve gotten started on building and assembling the World of Arda. Melkor is doing most of the heavy lifting, of course, taking charge of the project and overseeing all the lesser spirits.

Most of the work has involved the spontaneous generation of matter and energy. I’m proud to say the Fire Spirits have been most helpful in this matter, and the most eager to bend to the wisdom of Melkor. I’ve been spending a lot of time corralling the useless Earth, Air and Water Spirits. These morons are all over the map, and Creation would be nothing but a muddy pile if someone didn’t whip these imbeciles into shape.

I saw Melian today. She looked great. I wanted to say hello, but I was too nervous.

Anyway. Of course, we got trouble right away from the Manwë/Ulmo contingent. Neither of these guys had any clout back in the Timeless Halls — but come to Arda, and all of a sudden they think they’re gods or something. Melkor was second only to Eru back in the Halls; that means he’s second to NO ONE in Arda.

I suspect this is something Manwë and Ulmo will have to be taught. Eventually.

To shut up some of the noisier Ainur, Melkor came up with a plan, and I really don’t like it. Fifteen of the Ainur, eight male and seven female, are to be anointed “Valar,” or Greater Spirits. The rest will be “Maiar,” or Lesser Spirits.

I’m to be a Maia. SAURON DOES NOT APPROVE.

Melkor spent a long time calming me down, and explaining this to me. He says he needs me to work directly under him; that as Second-in-Command to the Greatest of the Valar, I will be the second most powerful, the Greatest of the Maiar.

Bullshit.

He also says he’s setting up Manwë, Ulmo, Oromë and the others. They’ll accept all this power and responsibility, and fail — then it will be clear that all power should accrue to Melkor. And me.
Now Huan is telling me he’s HAPPY to be a Maia. What a dumbass.

So all anybody can talk about now is The World that Eru showed us. I’ll bet if we had the Flame Imperishable, we could create the World without Eru. Maybe I should go out to the Void and look for it — but if Melkor had no luck, what chance do I have?

Speaking of Melkor, I think he’s avoiding me. I haven’t spoken to him since Eru called him out after the big concert. I think he’s genuinely ashamed, and wants to regain his position as Eru’s favorite. I guess I can’t blame him — he’s been Ilúvatar’s best buddy since forever. But is this the end of our plan to get Eru to adopt our changes?

Everyone who sang with Melkor is laying pretty low right now; and Aulë, that fat fuck, is all over me like ugly on an Orc. Whatever an “Orc” is. He seems to think I embarrassed him during the concert. Now he has me working all the time, to “keep me out of trouble.”

Screw him. Screw him right in the ear.

Oh, and Manwë! Did I mention him before? Some pissant little air spirit who showed up to our meeting? He was one of the loudest singing for Melkor during the concert.

Well, now he’s all over the place, talking about how VERY SORRY he is, and how Melkor led him astray, and he’ll never defy Eru again. Dammit, he pisses me off so much!

First of all, we didn’t defy Eru. We did exactly what Eru asked: we adorned His music with our “own thoughts and devices.”

Second, Melkor did not mislead anyone. We all knew what we were doing. And you don’t see Gothmog or any of the fire spirits going around apologizing.

And now Manwë, this whiny little loser, is trying to pass himself off as so pious and so repentant. Ugh, I could kill him.